


it's okay if you want to stay

by ironarana



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Peter Parker Needs a Break, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, author projects all her personal problems onto peter parker to cope, because that's who i am as a person sorry guys, it's me okay what did you expect?, this got wildly out of hand btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22150603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironarana/pseuds/ironarana
Summary: The moment he hits "submit" Peter knows his fate is sealed.But somehow he can't help feeling like he made the worst decision of his entire life.
Relationships: Irondad & Spiderson - Relationship, Peter Parker & Ned Leeds, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter parker & Ned Leeds & Michelle Jones, Spider-Man & Iron Man
Comments: 17
Kudos: 63





	it's okay if you want to stay

The moment he hits “submit” he knows his fate is sealed. 

He knows he should feel something. Maybe something like sheer, unadulterated excitement and joy bursting in his stomach like fireworks. Something like euphoria, like going into free fall without any webs to catch him and his stomach drops right before he catches himself and flies through the air feeling wild, free and untouchable. He knows he should feel like that: on top of the world and overflowing with bliss. 

But the truth is he doesn’t feel any of it. The truth is he doesn’t feel anything at all. 

It doesn’t feel like anything is happening or like anything has happened. He leans back in his computer chair and stares at the computer screen that tells him he should be receiving a confirmation email soon and that MIT will be seeing him in the fall, a little over three months from now. His whole world is going to change astronomically and yet, the reality hasn’t settled in yet. Something is blocking it. 

All he can really register, all he can really feel, is numbness and disbelief. He feels hollow and frozen, an emptiness spreading through his cavernous insides. His heart flutters with anxiety and his lungs are tight. That’s it. There’s nothing else. No excitement, no joy, no euphoria, no bliss. Just a cold sensation crawling over his limbs and an irrational thought hammering and echoing through his brain: _bad, bad, bad._

By all accounts, Peter is making the right decision, the logical decision. Anyone who is offered a scholarship to MIT would be a fool to turn it down and leave it to the next guy on their list. And Peter is nothing if not smart so of course, he said yes. Of course he accepted the scholarship and finished all the online forms and of course, he’s leaving in late August shortly after his birthday. 

But somehow he can’t help feeling like he just made the worst decision of his entire life. 

And he made it alone, in his bedroom, with May at work because the truth is, he didn’t want her to see his reaction if it wasn’t one that would make her proud. He knows how excited she was when he told her he was offered a scholarship. He knows how important it was to her that he attend even if meant he wouldn’t be able to live with her anymore. He knows all that. 

He just doesn’t want to disappoint her if he dared to voice his doubts. If he dared to say he didn’t want to leave just yet, even if it meant attending his dream school. 

So instead, he decided to do this alone, in private. Later, when May comes home, he’ll read her the confirmation email and maybe she’ll decide to take him out to their favorite Chinese restaurant. And over dinner, she’ll ramble about shopping lists and what to buy firsthand, what to buy used. She’ll read off a few easy recipes that aren’t exclusively ramen noodles and frozen pizza. 

But for now, Peter closes his laptop and trudges over to his bed with sagging, weighty shoulders and lays down and lets a few silent tears slip down his cheeks. For now, he mourns the impending loss of everything he knows and the truth settles in: foreign and unwelcome. 

He’s leaving in three months. He won’t be sleeping in this bed or in this apartment any longer. He won’t be able to eat May’s home cooked meals, burnt or otherwise, every night. He won’t be able to visit Tony at the cabin on weekends and see Morgan and Ms. Potts. 

And Spider-Man? What’s going to happen to him? Peter knows there’s going to be very little buildings to swing from in Massachusetts which means that if he does this, if he follows through and says goodbye, then Queens will have to say goodbye to their friendly neighborhood hero. 

He doesn’t think he’s ready for that yet and the thought hitches his breathing until it turns into a sob. Then more sobs follow and soon enough, inevitably, he’s crying softly into his pillow without anyone around to hear him. Much less anyone who could provide him comfort. 

It’s all so far away, on the horizon, and ye so close all the same. He doesn’t know what to do or what to think. 

So he doesn’t. 

He just cries himself to sleep and wakes when May comes home so he can set his plan into motion. 

-

At school the next day, everyone is talking about it. 

He’s not exactly sure how although he has a distinct, subtle suspicion that it has something to do with Ned, who is waiting at Peter’s locker as he weaves through the thickening, everflowing crowd of students who fill the hallway. 

He knows Ned is excited too. He was when Peter texted him yesterday about it. But he can’t seem to muster the energy or find any joy deep inside himself. If excitement feels like fireworks, then Peter is an empty night sky: cold, dark and uninhabited. 

“Dude!” Ned exclaims and shuffles forward, knocking shoulders with other students in his way. His face is alight with a broad smile and wide, sparkling eyes. “I’m sorry, I still can’t believe you’re going to MIT in the fall, that’s awesome!” 

“Yeah, I know,” Peter replies with an uneasy, breathy laugh. His eyes flicker around to other students who shoot looks his way and talk behind their hands, their whispers tickling the air around him. “You didn’t, uh, you didn’t tell anyone did you?” 

Ned shrugs awkwardly, the movement stiff. Suddenly, he can’t seem to make eye contact any longer. “So I sorta told Betty, who maybe sorta told Cindy who maybe sorta told everybody else.” 

“What?” Peter asks, incredulous. His brows furrow, he shakes his head in disbelief. “Why would you do that?” 

Ned sighs. “Peter, I was just so excited I had to tell someone and I told Betty to keep it a secret I swear but maybe she missed that last part, I don’t know, it must’ve got buried under a ton of texts last night. Oh, and by the way, my Mom says congratulations,” he finishes with a smile. 

Peter heaves a sigh and leans his head back against the locker, closes his eyes and tries to catch his breath. Honestly, he’s not even mad that Ned told everyone his big news. He’s frustrated that literally everyone else in the world is excited but him and frustrated at himself that whatever he’s feeling on the inside doesn’t seem to match the outside. He’s always been at outcast and never one to follow the crowd but truthfully, he wouldn’t mind being like everyone else if it meant he would feel even an inkling exhilaration. 

But he can’t. 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Ned confesses, contriteness etched into his voice and written across his features. “I really didn’t mean for this to happen. It just-It got out of hand and I’m really, really sorry.” 

With a heavy heart and a crooked smile, Peter replies, “It’s okay, Ned. Really, I’m fine. I just-this is all happening really fast is all.” 

It’s the truth, laid right there at Ned’s feet but somehow he misses it. Peter really wishes he hadn’t. Ned’s brow worries itself together and he says, “Are you sure?” 

Peter clears his throat and nods. “Yeah, it’s fine. Don’t-don’t worry about it.” 

_I’m drowning,_ Peter doesn’t say. _I’m drowning in myself, please help me._

Ned’s mouth twitches. “Okay. I’ll see you in chem.” 

“See you in chem,” Peter echoes and then he opens his locker, shuffles his books around and heads off to class. 

-

He can’t focus. 

It’s like there’s a hole in his brain and too many thoughts are leaking through, water capsizing his brain like a ship out at sea. They’re all overlapping each other and Peter can’t even form a coherent thought. Can’t even think straight because where at first there was nothing now there is sheer terror causing his heart rate to mount and his breathing to hitch and whiting out everything else. 

What if he fails all his classes? What if he can’t make it on his own without May or Tony to support him? What if something happens and Tony can’t reach him in time? What if someone accidentally drugs him at a frat party? What if he can’t stay on top of all his coursework? 

It’s all these thoughts and more that consume him entirely from the inside out and he loses track of everything else. He doesn’t even know how he manages to make it from one class to another. The only reason he can formulate is that he’s moving on muscle memory and instinct now. Just trying to survive, just trying to breath past the anxiety clamping down around his lungs like a vice and squeezing. 

He’s drowning inside his brain and he doesn’t know how to save himself. Doesn’t know how to say he doesn’t think he’s ready to leave everyone he loves and everything he knows just yet. 

Teachers stop him after every class. Apparently, word has spread to them too. Peter can imagine the conversations in the break room over coffee about Peter Parker, accepted into MIT and attending next fall. They tell him how proud they are of him and reinforce the idea that he made an excellent choice. MIT is a great school and they’ll be lucky to have him. 

Peter thanks his teachers with an awkward smile and then runs from one class to another, eager to outrun everyone who seems so keen on singing their praises today. 

He can’t outrun them. Can’t outrun this. 

And he knows that. But he can try. 

At lunch, Ned talks more about MIT and how they haven’t replied to his application yet which means that Peter must be very valuable or at least very important if they’ve replied to him already with confirmation emails and everything else. 

Michelle, surprisingly, isn’t reading her book and instead listens to everything Ned is saying. Her eyes widen a fraction every now and again but Peter can tell she’s just making those faces to let Ned know she’s listening even if she never says a word. She rests her chin in her hand and looks on with a disinterest even though her face says she’s soaking in everything Ned says. 

Occasionally, she shoots concerned glances at Peter who avoids them by casting his own eyes into his lap. He doesn’t like knowing Michelle has probably already dissected him and pieced him back together again like a bug under a microscope. He doesn’t like her knowing. He doesn’t like _being_ known. 

But she does know. 

So when the bell rings and Ned shoots out of his seat to head for a class he’s almost always late for, Michelle lingers and, in an uncharacteristic initiation of contact, she grabs Peter by the forearm and says, “Hey.” 

Peter freezes in his tracks and his eyes widen like he’s been caught doing or something he shouldn’t have been and she’s going to call his bluff if he tries to lie his way out. 

“What?” he gasps, staring at her in mute horror and anticipation. 

Surprisingly, in a touching display of affection, her brown eyes are soft around the edges and her voice softer when she asks, “You okay?” 

Peter closes his mouth and swallows hard. Truthfully, it wasn’t what he was expecting but it’s okay. He’s told this lie many times before and he knows this is a lie she won’t call him out on because while Michelle values the truth, she also straddles the line in allowing someone the dignity of their lie if it’s really a thinly veiled truth they don’t want to voice yet. 

So he says, “Yeah, I’m fine” and lightly shrugs her off, drops off his lunch tray before leaving the room. 

And yet, he’s aware that when he leaves for their shared history class, Michelle finds him in the hall and doesn’t leave his side. 

-

It dawns him that, while this isn’t the last time he’ll wait for Happy outside school, it’s one of _the_ last times it’ll happen. 

It’s late May and there’s a warm, light breeze wafting through the air that carries the clamor of students down the stairs and to the sidewalk where cars roll through the line along the curb. He pretending very hard to be interested in a crack in the sidewalk, his shoes scuffing the crack and his hands clenching the straps of his backpack like he can somehow get a grip on his sanity if he tethers himself to reality enough. 

He hears a honking and looks to see a sleek town car with tinted windows. Unrecognizable to everyone else but familiar and almost welcome to Peter. 

And the only reason he says “almost” is because if Michelle didn’t have the heart to call him on his bluff, Tony certainly will in his own loving, sometimes frustrating way he has of coaxing the truth out of Peter even if he’s resolved to stay silent about the matter. 

He’s already cracking, his emotions bubbling in the fissures. He doesn’t want Tony to break him open. His heart is already chasmic, the dark and widening space threatening to swallow him whole. 

Hollow and drowning and breaking. Peter feels nothing and everything all at once. 

The car rolls to a stop and Peter opens the door, careful not to slam it in a silent cry for help. He always forgets, always slams it. Happy might catch on. Peter isn’t sure if he wants him to or not. 

He sets his backpack down into the seat beside him and buckles up, leans his forehead against the window. He watches the school fade and buildings rise around him as Happy navigates out of Manhattan and towards the tollway that leads upstate to the cabin. The car is silent with the exception of mellow rock music playing softly over the radio. It sets Peter at ease but not by much. Ben always did like mellow rock music. 

“Hey, you okay back there?” Happy asks once they merge onto the tollway. He eyes Peter in the rearview mirror with both suspicion and concern. “I don’t think you’ve said a word since you got in.” 

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know,” he mumbles and this, at least, isn’t a lie. He meets Happy’s eye in the mirror and then immediately looks away, feeling Happy’s searing stare burn right through his brain. Peter’s cheeks heat with mild embarrassment, his heart stuttering. 

Happy doesn’t say another word and Peter stifles a deep sigh and closes his eyes, lets the music and smooth revving of the engine lull him into a sleep that refused to come the night before. 

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps but when he wakes, he jerks and his breath catches, dust and toil and cries jammed thickly in his throat. He hungrily swallows down air with wide eyes and flinches when someone says, “Hey!” 

He looks and Happy is there and the door is open and behind him, the lake shimmers underneath the afternoon sun. His brow is creased, his voice firm when he asks, “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. His mind is blanking, his muscles like jelly and blood striking and crashing in his ears. There are missiles raining down around him and debris spraying through the air. He is defensively curling in on himself in a ditch and then running to Tony and then the universe tears him away in a cruel twist of fate. 

Fate, it seems, is keen on tearing them apart one way or another. 

Peter blinks rapidly, forces his breaths to even out. He inhales deeply and with this intake of fresh air comes the musty odor of lake water and redwood. He exhales and it helps. If he exhales enough, maybe he can breath out all the bad things. 

And then he thinks about all the nightmares he has at home or at the cabin when he occasionally stays over on weekends. Who is going to rush in and comfort him then? Who is going to make sure he’s okay? May won’t be there and neither will Tony. 

He doesn’t think he can handle that anymore than he can handle everything else at the moment. 

When he looks at Happy though, his vision is a little more focused. There are less horrific images, less horrific memories, flashing through his eyes. Happy must see something in Peter’s expression because his face softens in the creases around his mouth and eyes. With his grey flecked beard and hair, it makes him look older and kinder. Peter can’t recall the last time he seemed so genuine and his voice is audibly different when he nods his head and gently says, “Come on, let’s head inside.” 

Peter scoots out of his seat and into the world again, his shoes sinking into the moist dirt beneath him. Happy grabs his backpack and shuts the car door, carries it inside and leads Peter along. His legs feel a little unsteady, the whole world off kilter. Then again, everything seems off kilter today. 

“Pepper took Morgan to her ballet class so they’ll be home later in the evening,” Happy says. “Think she had a birthday party after too.” 

Peter nods. “Okay, thanks.” 

Happy shoots him a slanted smile and then opens the cabin door, drops the backpack off on the bench with coats hanging over it. Peter kicks his shoes off. 

“I’m gonna go chill out the guest house,” Happy tells him. “I think Tony’s upstairs if you wanna go find him but you let me know if you need anything alright?” 

Peter nods and then Happy closes the door behind himself. Peter hears the stairs creak and then nothing more. 

Slowly, he wanders into the cabin, his hands absentmindedly tugging at the sleeves of his shirt. The mostly dark and empty house looms around him with the only source of light coming from the kitchen, an ambient yellow radiating to where he’s standing awkwardly in the entryway. 

And sure, he’s been here before, numerous times, but when he’s alone without anyone to welcome him and assure him that it’s okay to make himself at home, he feels like a stranger in someone else’s house, like he doesn’t quite belong. 

What if he feels that way at MIT? What if it never feels like a second home to him? What if he doesn’t belong there? What if his heart doesn’t belong the way it does with May in Queens or with Ned and MJ at school or with- 

“Hey, there’s the wonder kid,” greets Tony suddenly, so sudden Peter nearly jumps out of his own skin. Tony nonchalantly hops off the last stair and rounds into the kitchen, gesturing with a metal hand to the gleaming stainless steel fridge. “You want a drink?” 

Peter shakes his head. He’s afraid if he tries to keep anything down it’ll revisit him later with how nauseous all his twisting and bundled nerves are making him feel. 

“No?” Tony says. “Well, I’m gonna have some coffee and you let me know if you want some cause from the looks of it, you’re gonna need one.” 

Peter can’t even muster a laugh. Is he just all description now, no actions? Is he only what he can’t do and not what he can? He doesn’t know. He can’t think. And there’s another one, right there, and it’s frustrating. He feels like maybe he wants to smash a glass against the wall he’s so angry at himself. 

And why? Because he’s not reacting the way others expect him to? Because he’s not like everyone else? Because he’s terrified to be independent when everyone else his age craves what he so desperately wants to avoid? Because he’s dying to go to MIT and yet wants to avoid it all costs? 

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know. He’s drowning inside his own head and all the thoughts are tearing him apart and the chasm is widening and it’s going to consume him from the inside out like a wormhole. 

His vision swarms with black and tunnels. Tony is the only thing he says. He feels lightheaded and dizzy and falls back onto something hard and he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he’s experiencing an anxiety attack. 

_“Peter, listen to me, I need you to breathe, okay?”_ Tony says, his voice distorted and warbled like he’s underwater. He sounds far away and unreal. _“I know you might not be able to hear me but if you can, I need you to take some deep breaths for me, okay? You’re having an anxiety attack right now and I’m gonna help you out, but you gotta help me out too. You just gotta breathe, okay? That’s it. Just breathe.”_

Peter forces short, fast breaths into his lungs. For whatever reason, he can’t keep any air in. Can’t breathe it in fast enough. 

_“That’s it, you’re doing great,”_ Tony says. _“Just keep breathing, okay? They’ll even out. Just focus on deep breathes for me.”_

Peter tries to, he does, but he feels heat rushing through him like a wildfire and singeing his nerves. He can’t feel his fingers or toes. They tingle with the ebbing and flowing of numbness. His hands are clammy. His heart pounds dangerously fast in his ears. 

_“Here, feel right here,”_ Tony says and takes Peter’s hand and splays it over his chest. _“Breathe in and out with me. In, out. In, out. That’s it, there you go. You’re doing great buddy.”_

Peter feels as Tony’s chest expands and deflates and he tries to match his breathing to Tony’s, tries to will the numbness in his fingers to fade so he can detect the faint pulsing of Tony’s heartbeat beneath his fingertips and will his own heart rate to slow. Gradually, the sound of blood beating in his ears begins to recede. Tony’s voice clears. 

_“There you are, that’s it. You’re back, you’re al_ right. You’re safe. You’re here in the cabin with me. You’re gonna be just fine.” 

But he’s not and he won’t be. Because when he leaves, or if he leaves considering how well he’s handling the notion, he won’t be able to just jump in a car and drive upstate. He’ll be hours away and what with Tony’s heart condition and his new prosthetic, he won’t even be able to fly to Peter if something’s wrong. 

He doesn’t know how to tell Tony this so all that comes out in response is a choked off sob and tears falling down his hot red cheeks. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony croons softly, his strong and calloused hand reaching to cup the side of Peter’s face. His square thumb gently brushes away a tear with all the grace and tenderness of a butterfly’s wings fluttering. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, Pete, tell me what’s wrong.” 

Peter sobs. “I can’t do it,” he cries, his voice absolutely beyond shattered and yet tight, still trying to hold himself together. “I just can’t do it.” 

“Can’t do what? What can’t you do?” he asks, his brow all furrowed and eyes pained. 

Peter shakes his head and curls his arms around his stomach which writhes and twists in agony. It physically hurts him: the idea of being so far away from home and almost utterly unreachable. And maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much before he felt all his atoms being unstitched as his entire being unraveled into the universe. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much if he died and was spat back out onto a battlefield where he almost lost Tony and almost died again more than once. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

But now, everything hurts and he feels like he’s close to dying all over again. Everything is coming undone. A beautiful opportunity laid to waste because he can’t keep himself together. 

“I can’t leave,” Peter whimpers and sniffles, his nose itchy. “I can’t-I can’t go to-to MIT, Tony, I just can’t do it.” 

“Oh, Peter,” Tony soothes as he opens his arms. “I’m so sorry, bud.” 

Peter falls into them and wraps his arms around Tony’s neck like he’s a small child. Maybe he is. Maybe he’s not nearly as capable as he’d hoped, as he once thought and wished himself to be. 

Tony rocks him back and forth, his real hand carding through Peter’s hair as his other one rubs circles over Peter’s lower back. Tony shushes him softly, his breath tickling Peter’s ear. 

“Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, just let it all out. Just let it all out, Pete, I got you. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

So Peter does. He cries into the crook of Tony’s shoulder, his tears wetting the fabric of Tony’s shirt as he does so. He’s aware he’s a mess and yet he doesn’t care. Tony holds him and nothing else matters and he thinks that’s all he really needs to be aware of at the moment. 

Slowly, his sobs begin to subside and only shattered hiccups fill the air. He closes his eyes and his whole body sags with exhaustion. He’s been keeping everything inside all day and now that it’s all gone, he doesn’t know what to do. A nap sounds like heaven right about now.  
And because Tony knows him, sometimes better than he knows himself, Tony asks, “You wanna go lie down for a bit?” 

Peter nods, his face shifting against the well loved fabric that smells distinctly like coffee and mint. Together they stand and Tony helps lead Peter upstairs, his hand never leaving Peter’s arm like he might topple over without any support. It’s probably true too. 

Upstairs, Tony doesn’t take Peter to the end of the hall but instead to the first bedroom on the right which Peter knows to be Tony and Pepper’s room. He’s never been in their room before out of respect for their privacy so when he walks in, he’s a little surprised to see how simple yet charming it is. An antique dresser with brass handles and a large mirror off to one side. A flat screen tv mounted on the wall. A window with linen curtains overlooking the forest. A large fluffy bed with layers of comforts, blankets and pillows. 

“Come here, come lay down,” Tony says and Peter follows him over to the bed. 

Tony throws back all the blankets and Peter climbs in, lets Tony tuck him in like he would Morgan. Tony strokes his cheek and then leans over, softly kisses Peter’s hairline. 

“Get some sleep, okay?” Tony suggest with a smile. 

Peter nods, his insides feeling the warmest they’ve felt in a while. He sinks into the mattress and lets the weight of the blankets settle him into a state of comfort and safety. 

For once, he feels like he belongs and he feels like he’s home. 

And then he falls into a deep, welcome and dreamless sleep. 

-

When Peter wakes, the whole world is dark and he has no idea what time it is. 

He slowly stirs beneath the layers of blankets, fabric shifting against fabric, his eyes blinking open. He stretches his arms and legs and then throws back the covers, swings his legs over the edge of the mattress. The hardwood is chill beneath his socked feet. The floorboards creak beneath him as he makes his way across the room and to the door. 

He twists the doorknob and it swings open and into the bedroom. With the sudden influx of yellow light meeting his sensitive eyes, he has to blink rapidly in order to adjust his vision which is speckled with black and white, air rushing to his head from standing and walking too fast. He breathes through the accompanying tightness in his chest and then everything begins to subside and his vision clears, his head less light and more normal. 

He wanders down the hall and then down the stairs, his hand sliding over the railing. Someone is in the kitchen. Peter can hear them mumbling through a song underneath their breath. Something is bubbling in the background. 

When he reaches the landing, he rounds into the kitchen to see Tony rifling through an open cabinet and muttering to himself as his fingers search through a various assortment of herbs and seasonings. His face brightens with a smile when he sees Peter has entered. 

“Hey, you’re awake,” he says and grabs two different bottles and takes them over to the stove where, from what Peter can tell, he seems to be boiling something. “How’d you sleep?” 

Peter shrugs. “I slept okay, thanks,” he replies as he seats himself at the kitchen table, his fingers stroking the wood grain for lack of anything better to do. “What are you, uh, what are you making?” 

“Some good old fashioned homemade mac ‘n’ cheese,” Tony tells him. “Pepper’s family recipe. Turns out, her eccentric uncle is a really great cook.” 

“Really?” 

Tony scoffs. “Yeah, so this is gonna be my poor man’s attempt at the recipe. But don’t knock it till you try it, copy?” 

“Copy.” 

Tony sprinkles the seasonings into the pot and then stirs it with a wooden spoon, sets it down on the countertop beside the stove and then wanders over to where Peter is sitting and seats himself in the chair across from him. He rests his metal hand on the table and tilts his head and Peter instinctively knows that Tony is going to want to talk now about what happened. Because if he knows anything, he knows Tony doesn’t just let things slide. Especially mental breakdowns in his own freaking entryway. 

“Peter, I know you don’t like this,” is how he starts just as Peter casts his eyes into his lap. “And trust me, I don’t like it either. But we need to talk about what happened otherwise it’s going to fester and whatever is going on inside your head is going to get worse. So why don’t you just tell me what happened, what you think brought this on and then how we can work through whatever’s going on inside your head together, alright?” 

Peter sniffles and swallows hard, his voice quiet when he responds, “Okay” and intakes a deep and steadying yet shaky breath. 

“I, um, I-I accepted the MIT scholarship. And I finished all the papers and stuff yesterday but I’m…” His throat thickens with wetness, his words choked. He runs a hand through his hair. He sniffs. “I’m not happy about it.” 

“Okay,” Tony replies, calm and even toned. “Why aren’t you happy about it?” 

And that’s the question, isn’t it? Why isn’t he happy about it? Everyone else is. May, Ned, all his teachers. So why is he the only one that isn’t excited? 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs but he does know, he does.  
Because only he can see inside himself and what he sees is nothing but insurmountable waves of fear, crashing and churning inside his stomach. He’s drowning in thoughts, drowning in fear. It’s something he slowly, suddenly, begins to realize has been lapping at his sanity since he came back and washing all logic out to sea. 

What he’s feeling, he realizes, is scared. Scared to be alone, scared to leave May and Tony, scared he’ll fail, scared something will happen and no one will be able to save him in time. He has fought on battlefields and lifted buildings over his head but this fear is different. This fear doesn’t keep him alive or encourage him to do great things, no. This fear degrades and consumes him. 

This fear turns a dream come true into his worst nightmare. 

“Well,” says Tony and it draws him back from the brink, back into where he is now. At the cabin, with Tony, talking. “How do you feel about it?” 

Peter licks his chapped lips. He’s scared to say. Scared he’ll sound selfish, like he’s taking something as incredible as a scholarship to MIT for granted. 

But this is Tony he’s talking to. Tony, who has fallen asleep at his bedside in hospitals. Tony, who lowered himself when Peter felt truly and terribly low so he could bring Peter back to his feet again. Tony, who has never judged him. Not once, not ever. 

This is Tony and sure, he’s different now. A little softer around the edges, a little greyer in the beard and hair, a little crinkled around the eyes. But he’s still Tony through and through and Peter can trust him with anything, no matter how big or small. 

“I’m scared,” Peter whispers and he doesn’t realize he’s said it until the words have already left his mouth. 

Tony doesn’t respond right away. Peter hears the chair creaking as Tony leans forward and then, his hand is cupping Peter’s chin and lifting his gaze out of his lap until he’s staring straight into Tony’s eyes which shimmer and brim with worry as he searches Peter’s expression. 

“Why are you scared, Pete?” he asks softly. 

Peter exhales. His heart feels heavy like a rock in his chest when he thinks about MIT and the distance and about being so far away from everyone and everything he loves. He thinks it feels a little bit lighter when he thinks about a fire crackling in the cabin’s fireplace and being cozied on the couch with May in their apartment living room. 

His heart belongs with May and Tony. Not in a dorm room in Massachusetts. 

“I don’t wanna be alone,” he whispers as a silent tear slips down his cheek. “I wanna stay with you and May.” 

Tony’s mouth tilts into a sympathetic half smile, his worried eyes melting into something kind. 

“Peter, it’s okay to feel scared,” Tony says. “If that’s what you’ve been fighting against this entire time, then I’m telling you now that it’s okay. It’s okay if you want to stay with me or May. It’s okay if you’re not over the moon about it. But what’s not okay is fighting your emotions and beating yourself up over not feeling a certain way.” 

And he has done that, hasn’t he? Fought this anxiety at every turn, became frustrated at himself when his insides didn’t match the outside and everyone else’s reactions. He doesn’t think he’s been kind to himself even once since he accepted the scholarship. 

“And hey, can I tell you something?” Tony asks and Peter nods, so Tony goes on. “And I don’t wanna take full credit because you’re an incredible student, Pete, and everyone knows that. But I sent MIT a recommendation letter on your behalf a couple months ago. And it’s one of the reasons why you were at the top of their list in terms of scholarship offers.” 

Peter blinks in surprise and leans back in his chair, Tony’s hand falling away from his chin. This is something new. He’s not sure what to think. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to. He’s been doing too much thinking anyways. 

“And you know what?” Tony continues. “It’s not too late. If you really, really don’t wanna go in the fall then that’s fine. We can sort this out and you can stay with May or me. Take a gap year. God knows you deserve it. And I want you to know that no matter what decision you make and whether you leave or stay, I’m always gonna be there for you. I’m gonna love you no matter what and I know May will too. We both love you so much and we’re so, so proud of you and how far you’ve come.” 

Peter doesn’t know how to respond. A new emotion is bubbling and filling his throat, his heart light even as tears stream down his face. A crooked smile forms across his face. It feels a little like joy. 

“And I’d be remiss if I didn’t say you’ve gone through so much, Pete,” Tony says and his own voice is trembling now, his eyes shining. His nose twitches. “You’ve been through I think more than any other teenager ever has and you’ve come out the other end alive and trying your best to find your place in this world. And it’s okay if it’s not at MIT or if it takes a while for you to find where you belong. Just as long as you’re trying. Then that’s all that matters.” 

Peter, suddenly, can’t contain himself anymore. 

In a surprising burst of motion, he laughs and throws himself forward into Tony’s arms and wraps his arms around Tony’s neck, his eyes squeezing closed as happy, relieved tears leak out. Tony’s arms tighten around him, two hearts beating against each other. Two souls just trying to reorient themselves in a strange, new world. 

And Tony’s right. Maybe he doesn’t know where he belongs yet. Maybe he needs time to figure it out. 

But he knows that right here, right now, wrapped safely in Tony’s arms he feels like he truly belongs. 

And that’s all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic of 2020 and i'm already off to a banner start, yippee
> 
> although i will say, my issues/problems with college don't even come close to paralleling peter's but i am anxious and stressed about it so...you know i gotta project all my personal problems onto peter so tony can comfort ~~me~~ him
> 
> anyways, i hope you guys enjoyed this fic and now that the holidays are over, i hope everyone who is going back to school is re-adjusting well. 
> 
> and hey! if you're reading this right now, then i just posted this before a 7 hour shift so be sure to leave kudos and comments that i can reply to when i go on break/get off work
> 
> love you guys and talk to you guys later, bye!!
> 
> [wattpad: ironarana](https://www.wattpad.com/user/ironarana)


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